Yawn! Ever since kindergarten had started, my routine seemed to be the same every day. But, as I sat up, I realized that the day’s routine would be little of the same. It was Saturday. One of the two days each week in which play time and snack time were not a part of my schedule. I slowly wriggled out from under the covers and descended from my bed. As I dressed myself, I reflected on what the day might hold, but I didn’t have the slightest idea of what was in store.

As I stumbled into the living room still half asleep, I came to find both of my parents sitting and reading the paper. My dad was propped up in the recliner and my mom leaned against the arm of the couch. We exchanged good mornings and kisses as they asked me how I had slept. Once this had transpired, I decided that it was time to answer the painful call for food that my stomach was making so perfectly clear. As I ambled to the kitchen, there was only one question on my mind; what should I eat?

After I opened the cabinet, I was dismayed to find the usual options. We had cereal, oatmeal, and Eggos. I knew there had to be something better. I began shuffling boxes around to my liking, and that’s when I struck gold. I found myself looking at a Pop Tart box with the top slightly ajar. My heart swelled with joy. It was my favorite kind, brown sugar cinnamon. Could it get any better? As I picked up the box, I gathered that it was not bearing the weight of even a half full box. As I peered into the package, a wave of relief washed over me. There was only one wrapper left, and I knew that its contents had my name on it.

I quickly snatched it up out of the box, clutching it close to my chest as to protect it from any thieves. I suddenly slammed the cabinet door, leaving the empty box for the next person to open the cabinet, as all kindergarteners do. I carefully and very precisely opened the sweet sugary breakfast that was mine. Two crisp brown Pop Tarts came into view as I peeled away the wrapper. My mouth began watering uncontrollably as the sweet aroma filled my nostrils. I was toeing the edge of reality as I jovially walked to the trashcan.

When I opened the door to the trashcan, I immediately became aware of the previous night’s spaghetti. While momentarily disgusted, I quickly discarded my trash. The only problem was that the wrapper was still clutched in my hand. Once again, I peered down to look at the contents of the garbage bin, finding my two Pop Tarts sitting at the bottom amongst noodles and meatballs. First came the slow deep sobs. I kept telling myself not to cry. Now was the time to be a big boy. I would just have to settle of cereal today. Then, from the bottom of my throat came the most ear-splitting scream that my body could conjure. As my mom rushed to the scene, I began to absolutely bawl. Between sniffles and moans, I described every last detail to her. My morning was officially ruined.

Eventually I clamed myself down, and in the end it really paid off. My mom had me sit down at the table and wait. She told me not to peek because she had a special treat. Of course, I peeked. What I saw turned my sobs of sadness into screams of sheer joy. She was pulling her hand from an upper cabinet that I was not able to reach, and grasped in it was a brand new box of brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts. My day was saved. I serenely thanked her and tore open the new box. This time though, I was careful to throw away the real trash.